


A Misfortunate Escape

by imlostinsantacarla



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Mild Language, Protective Harald Finehair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22150549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imlostinsantacarla/pseuds/imlostinsantacarla
Summary: The kingdom that belongs to King Harald is filled with merrymaking and celebration. There is a deep wedge within the Queen's being, leading the noise and intensity of the celebration to become far too intimidating for her. As she flees into the night, her heart aches for the precious silence of her once beloved niche that seemed to have always calmed her down, though being the Queen of even the smallest kingdom has it's limits. In desperation, Harald and his brother Halfdan the Black pursue the Queen into the night, prepared to fight the phantom that plagued her. But what is the phantom isn't physical?
Relationships: Harald Finehair/Reader, King Harald x reader, Vikings Harald
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	A Misfortunate Escape

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this doesn't really have much context or back story, just something that i found myself writing. nevertheless, i hope that you enjoy it! please let me know what you think, i'm always keen to improve my writing as well as hearing your thoughts. thank you! ♡

The evening swung into galloping motion as night wandered over the colony, crafting jubilant and gleeful energy into merry-full celebration: The clashing of drinking horns thumped against one another, sloshing a bountiful of ale onto the feet of those that had been all too celebratory.

Whilst the merry making continued to thrive and mold into a barrage of cackles and ear splitting shrieks, the Queen fled to the vacant-ness of the outdoors. Although it wasn’t as wonderful as her niche out in the hood of the wild elder trees on the outskirts of where her husband’s colony just brushed, she had to do with an ever-so-slightly muted hum over the celebration facing her back.

She still felt the erratic palpitations of her heart beating mercilessly against her chest, due not only through the explosion of extroversion going on in the great hall, but also caused from the remarkable miracle that she had managed to escape the clutches of the party without so much of her husband, King Harald, and his brother, Halfdan the Black, spotting her or intervening directly, their deep orbs scalding her very soul.

It was solemnly haunting how her limbs quivered, not only due to the frigid fingers of the night’s tender breeze clasping her, the rib breaking chamber, a greedy tsunami burying her beneath it’s rich and deep waves, stealing the breath from her quenched lungs.

Her mind seemed blurred into a scenario of discombobulated stern orbs and tense tones ravishing her mind’s eye. She gulped for air, slumping against the post, slipping down it until her fine quality dresses billowed out, surrounding her like a deep ocean blue silhouette. She felt as though she was rocking, like a ship set sail West.

Moments seemed like long stretched millenniums, she felt trapped in a case, stuck in a moment of stillness. The pulse of her blood, her very soul rocketing through her veins clouded all audibility in her ears, so much so that a high squealed ringing gonged in her pointed ears, like a recycled mantra dampened down by forgotten minds and glorified by impossible myths.

A strangled sob erected from her parted lips, shock discovering itself on every hair on her body, causing them to rise like the dead could only once they had passed onto the Realm of Spirits. Was she overwhelmed by the sense of responsibility? Or aching for her niche that she no longer was permitted to visit, wander and bathe within until her soul felt content?

Her cacophonous mind chatter thumped on, never picking up the echoing bellow of her husband calling for his beloved before commanding orders out to the lot of men assigned to finding the King’s target. His enchanting wife.

The moon hung at an eerie tilt, casting bulbous shadows where it’s soothing glow seemed to be rashly and callously interrupted by the rooftops of buildings. King Harald kept his composure placid, almost as smooth as a realistically carved statue. Halfdan only registered the state of sincere alarm that loomed over his older brother Harald like a ghoulish silhouette. And in the grotesque devoid air traveled a muffled gulping that belonged to what sounded like a woman, and next a poignant wail that struck the fellow’s ears’.

As soon as the faint tragic weeping slipped into Haralds’ being his legs seemed to kick into action, sword already at hand as a barrage, an inferno burst through every cell of his being. He was more than ready to unleash the berserker that brewed and stewed within him.

He would kill the sorry bastard who had dared to touch, look, speak or think or even breathe by his woman; and Blood Eagling him seemed the most appropriate thing to do; a definite selfishly ruthless gift he could give.

He silently cursed his kingdom for being such a maze, feeling as though his legs were held back by lard, though the audibility of the cries grew louder and it seemed as though it was not a figment of his imagination, for his brother heard it as well, hurrying along beside him.

The pair skidded to a halt, crying something in their native tongue, axe and swords ready at hand. Though astonishment took advantage of them…

Curled against the post, the Queen sat quivering at an alarming rate, face shielded by her shoulder length hair that she tugged at. Harald had never seen such an eerie sight. However startling, she was still beautiful to him.

Discomfort flooded over Halfdan, his lips turning into a tense scowl and he wandered off, in search for the apparent threat that seemed to be nothing more than a phantom, an illusion, - or so the brother’s thought -.

Alone with his beloved wife, Harald drew back his sword within its sheath, and his hands wearily encountered his broken wife. The movement startled her out of her dramatic state, causing her to thrash as though he were the danger. Her pale orbs were filled with floods of tears and she appeared not to recognize him until he grasped her wrists solidly, pinning them by either side of her.

“What has happened?” Spoken with prosperous venom in his tone, his hands shook with animosity, a guttural growl prying itself from his tightly clenched teeth. He looked murderous, ready to bathe in his enemies blood; the filthy bastard whom had done something to his wife.

There was no answer and Harald’s patience evaporated. “TELL ME!” the roar was vicious and it caused terror to submerge His Wife’s orbs, her pallor complexion turning a sickeningly white under the moon's illumination. He never took pride in that expression flickering over her, particularly over himself.

Guilt swarmed his now stormy eyes as she curved into him, as though it was what she had been searching for. Unbeknownst to him, it served her much more diligently than her perfect niche, and she thus realized that escaping to a much more silent place seemed to have been a grave mistake in itself.

Although Harald grew frustrated with the unreadable messages his wife was attempting to state to him, he was deeply aware that something unsettled and frightened his mesmerizing wife, almost something that he was not capable of fighting with his bare hands, wrestling it and demolishing it. That seemed impossible which dampened the spirits of his now aching heart.

Within the swirl of the intensity of emotions, her eyelids sunk shut and Harald knew the storm was over. For now that was...


End file.
